


A Truth

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Frian, Platonic Maycury, set in Montreux in May 1991 so you know what's happening there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 13:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: Freddie watches Roger's and Brian's segment of "Good Rockin' Tonight" and learns a truth."I know WHY we're doing it!" The irritable tone in Brian's voice gave way on a crack as he continued. "I just...I can't do what you do, sit there and blithely lie about the band, about Freddie being so sick.""I'm not BLITHE. It's fucking hard work.""And I'm saying I don't think I can do it. You covered up, but what if I make a mistake, say the wrong thing?" A brittle laugh filled the microphone. "We're in a world where the wrong thing to say is the truth and the right one's a lie.""So don't tell a lie," Roger advised. "And don't tell the truth. Just tell *A* truth. Not about what's happening, but how you feel."Brian snorted. "*A* truth."





	A Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the @Freddie-Mercurial Maycury Week challenge. The prompt was "I don't think I can do this anymore." I probably took this in a different direction than intended, but that's just how it rang in my very strange head.
> 
> Sending tremendous gratitude to @silapril and @crosmopolitan on Tumblr for finding the Vancouver interview I so desperately needed to re-watch. You two are DARLINGS!  
https://youtu.be/piccOdUhauk

12 May, 1991  
Mountain Studios, Montreux, Switzerland

It was an enigmatic note. 

> _Brian didn't know his mic was hot in the green room. I didn't hear this bit until afterwards. I destroyed the master so this is the only copy—your secret's safe. God bless.  
\--Stu  
_

Freddie had been sent the PAL tape of Roger and Brian on the Canadian show "Good Rockin' Tonight" but didn't feel up to watching it. Truth be told, he didn't feel up to much of anything, anymore. He hadn't noticed the other items in the padded AirMail envelope until the slip of paper had fallen out.

He turned the note over and over between his aching fingers as if that would help him read between the lines, then set it aside and shook the envelope until a cassette tape fell out. One side bore a blank label but the other read "Green room pre-show" in the same handwriting as the note.

Brian's portable recorder was nearby, a stack of unlabeled tapes sitting next to it. Groaning a little with the effort, Freddie got out of his chair, velour blanket still wrapped tightly around himself. He popped the mystery cassette into place and pressed the Play button.

_The first sound was a door closing, followed by shoes squeaking on a linoleum floor.  
_

_Roger's voice was rather faint, picked up from a distance on Brian's mic. "It went pretty well. Kept him on the history of the band, that sort of thing. You're up after the commercial break and the next video clip."_

_Silence reigned for a few seconds, then Brian took a shaky breath. "I don't think I can," Brian said, and there was a pained thickness in his voice that Freddie recognised all too well.  
_

_"Bri, c'mon..."  
_

_"I'm serious, Roger. I'm sorry, I don't think I can do this anymore."  
_

_Roger's voice came closer to the mic. "Can't do...what?"  
_

_"Lie."  
_

Freddie leaned against the table for stability. His legs felt like worn-out rubber bands, too ineffective to hold even his slight weight._  
_

_There was an odd tapping sound. Perhaps Roger was patting Brian on the shoulder. "I know it's hard. I almost fucked up out there. You just gotta remember why we're doing it."  
_

_"I know WHY we're doing it!" The irritable tone in Brian's voice gave way on a crack as he continued. "I just...I can't do what you do, sit there and blithely lie about the band, about Freddie being so sick."  
_

_"I'm not BLITHE. It's fucking hard work."_  
  
_ "And I'm saying I don't think I can do it. You covered up, but what if I make a mistake, say the wrong thing?" A brittle laugh filled the microphone. "We're in a world where the wrong thing to say is the truth and the right one's a lie."_

_"So don't tell a lie," Roger advised. "And don't tell the truth. Just tell *A* truth. Not about what's happening, but how you feel."_  
  
_Brian snorted. "*A* truth."_

_"Try it. For Fred."  
_

_The door opened again and an unfamiliar voice told Brian that he was needed on the set. Freddie heard a rustle of clothing—doubtless Roger drawing Brian in for a quick hug—and then the tape went silent.  
_

Freddie sat back down. His face felt hot, his blood cold. When they had returned from Canada Roger had dismissed the interview as "Fine, nothing special," and Brian had nodded his agreement. What the fuck actually happened on that show?

There had to be a VCR somewhere in the bowels of the studio. Had to be. Wasn't there one in the lounge? Freddie picked up the videotape and walked slowly, painfully, downstairs. Every footstep sent sheer agony into the marrow of his bones. Jim would be upset that he didn't call for help.

Just a few more steps.

He used to run, used to strut, used to sing for thousands, and now he could scarcely walk down a small flight of stairs without feeling faint.

Christ, what had his life become?

No one was in the room, so he pushed the tape into the machine and moved slowly backward until he was able to drop down heavily on the settee. He saw static and then the smiling host, Stu Jeffries. He was wearing a truly hideous jumper, Freddie thought with a hint of the sardonic smile of old, then he settled back to watch Roger's interview.

As always, Roger looked terrific on camera. He was relaxed in the chair, suavely comfortable in jacket and jeans, blond hair artfully mussed, and told the familiar story of meeting up in London so, so long ago.

Even with Roger's carefully-constructed facade, however, there were a few moments where Freddie could see tiny fissures. Roger spent an unusual amount of time twiddling his fingers. Sometimes, just for an instant, there was a hint of sorrow in the keen eyes. Blink and you'd miss it.

Brave, kind boy.

Then it was Brian's turn. Freddie leaned forward. Even with make-up, Brian's eyes were shadowed, haunted. He'd seen that look on Brian's face so many times in recent months.

He saw it again, in the flesh, as Brian himself came to sit next to him. "That's a rubbish interview, you don't want to watch it," he complained with a wave of a long-fingered hand.

"The only thing that's rubbish so far is your hair, darling. It's a wreck," Freddie responded. He leaned against Brian's shoulder, wincing as onscreen-Brian choked up when he spoke about Queen as a family, as the most stable unit in their lives.

That was well and truly over, wasn't it?

_"I'd like to see you guys again on tour, so what's the plan there?" asked Stu. _

_"So would I, so would I, yeah. Well, Freddie's not up for it at the moment."_

Oh.

_This was Brian telling "a" truth. He was turned away from Stu, gazing forlornly at something only he could see. When he talked about touring, it was in the past tense. Their glory days, lost in the hell their lives were becoming._

Brian shuddered, leaning forward as he rubbed his eyes rather than look at himself on the screen. Freddie tugged his blanket loose and draped half of it over Brian's shoulders. They didn't speak.

_"In the end, he has his own reasons..."  
_

Freddie left his arm across Brian's narrow back.

_"That would be my fondest dream...I would give a lot to be out on tour next month..."_

A truth. Because if they could go out on tour, next month or next year, it would be the result of a miracle.

But the truth was that Freddie had long ago given up on miracles.

"Poor Brimi," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Brian turned to look at him. His eyes, usually so luminous, were clouded over. "For what?"

Freddie shrugged. "For not being able to tour."

"Fred, that's—"  
  
"For making you lie about WHY I can't."

For a few seconds Brian simply gaped at him, then he opened his arms and let Freddie rest against him. "Maybe Deacy has the right idea by taping stuff for the press kits but not talking to anyone outright."

"You and the press do have a rather prickly relationship." Freddie allowed himself the luxury of taking in all of Brian: the soft hair brushing against his cheek, the scents of coffee and guitar strings, the subtle rise and fall of his breath, the tenderness in the sound of his own name falling quietly from Brian's lips.

"Freddie. I wish I could do something more...useful."

_"He would rather be in the studio at the moment," Brian had said with a rueful smile as he added, "In fact, we've already made some tracks for the next album."  
_

So tired. Freddie melted a bit into the protective circle of Brian's embrace. He took strength from him, and from Roger and Deacy. His fragility seemed to lessen in the studio, the one place where he could forget himself even if only for a few minutes at a time.

"Let's record tomorrow," Freddie crooned. "Let's work on our song."

He could feel the low rumble of Brian's chuckle. "If you're up to it, sure."

"I will be, darling."

He just needed to get some rest tonight, to let Jim take extra care of him. Then he could come back in the morning and work on his own truth, the words of the song he and Brian had created together.

Yes, tomorrow he would record "Mother Love."

**Author's Note:**

> Other than direct quotes from the interview (https://youtu.be/piccOdUhauk), this piece is entirely a work of fiction.


End file.
